Big Mountain Daddy_A Secret Baby Romance

by B. B. Hamel

  I glance over at Cora. She smiles at me calmly. She looks fucking good, I can’t deny that. Short skirt, hair pulled back, blouse showing off just enough of her perfect breasts. She looks like she’s going out on a date, and I wish I had something nicer to wear. Unfortunately, I’m in the same old clothes, a button-down and jeans, since I don’t have much else to wear.

  “Nice place,” Cora says as we step in through the door.

  I grin and don’t respond. Hottie’s is far from a nice place, but it’s already crowded. It looks like a chain bar, but without the stale cleanliness. The lights are down low and couples are sitting in booths and at tables, eating dinner and drinking. We head over toward the bar and grab seats toward the end. I order a beer and Cora asks for a whiskey and ginger ale.

  I get my drink and glance around the room. The place is a lot like the Great American, but a little seedier. The people here are rougher, louder, a little looser, and it’s still early in the night. Cora seems to be enjoying herself, a little smile on her face as she sips her drink, but I can’t help but feel a little exposed.

  I don’t know who’s here from high school. I could know a ton of people here and never even realize it, which makes me vastly uneasy. I haven’t seen these people in years, and I just have to hope that they won’t recognize me.

  “How’s being home been for you so far?” Cora asks me.

  I glance at my drink. “Not bad,” I say. “Went to a funeral, got roped into a murder investigation. You know, the usual.”

  She grins at me. “You’re acting like it’s so bad.”

  “I guess not. I get to spend time with you.” I meet her gaze.

  She quickly looks away, and I’m pretty sure she’s blushing. “Yeah, lucky you, coming to my house in the middle of the night because I had a nightmare.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Nightmare?”

  She sighs. “I had a nightmare, before I called you. I think… I don’t know if what I saw was real.”

  I nod and let out a breath. That makes sense, that’s why she hasn’t gotten in touch with me today. She feels weird about last night, probably thinks it wasn’t real.

  “Listen, your trashcan really was left open,” I tell her. “Unless you have really smart raccoons or you left it open, someone was in there.”

  She bites her lip. “Really? I mean, it couldn’t have been the wind?”

  I shake my head. “Definitely not. You didn’t dream that, Cora.”

  She looks a little relieved. “I don’t know if I should be happy about that or really disturbed.”

  “Both, I think.” I sip my beer and she smiles a little bit. I wish she’d back off this whole thing and let me take over, but I know she won’t do it, so I don’t waste my breath. Besides, I have to go back to Chicago in a day, and if she’s going to keep this up without me, she might as well have some leads to follow.

  “It’s weird, being in here,” she says softly after a short silence.

  “Why’s that?” I ask her.

  “Atticus came here a lot I think. I saw it on Facebook at least, back before things got really bad.”

  I nod slowly. “I think a lot of people from our school come here.”

  “I recognize a few,” she says. “People I haven’t really talked to in years.”

  “But they’re still hanging around, going to the bars.”

  “I mean, how many people really get out?” She shrugs, meets my gaze. “Not everyone’s like you.”

  “I guess not.” I glance away, realizing that she never got out either. “Anyway, we should probably looks around for people to talk to.”

  “Yeah,” she says, letting me change the subject.

  I finish my beer, needing the courage, before standing up. I approach a few folks, making friendly conversation, but nobody knows Atticus. Cora mostly just watches me, and I don’t blame her. This is a weird part of the job.

  I get through most of the people at the bar before sitting back down with her. An hour passes that way, randomly chatting people up, trying to see if anyone knows anything about Atticus. I ask the bartender, but he’s only been working here for a month, so he’s no help. Cora talks to the people she recognized, but none of them have anything to say. After a couple more drinks, we find ourselves jammed in at the very end of the bar. The early crowd is pretty much gone now, replaced by a harder, rowdier crowd. People are drinking fast and talking loud, and I can feel my discomfort rising.

  I start to recognize some things. “You see that?” I say to Cora softly.

  “What?” she asks, leaning in toward me, listening over the noise.

  “People keep flashing a sign. Watch those guys over there, in the denim vests.” She follows my gaze and sure enough, the guys flash the sign again: hands crossed, fingers slightly splayed, one thumb down.

  “Nine fingers,” she whispers.

  “Right.” We meet each other’s gaze and I feel that old familiar buzz in the back of my head, the buzz that tells me something just might be wrong about this.

  Before we can do anything though, three figures appear behind us through the crowd. I half-turn to check them out, just as one of them leans toward me. I get a whiff of sour breath, beer stink and something else.

  “Wyatt Reap, what the fuck are you doing here?”

  I lean back to get a look at the guy. He’s tall, about my height, though whip thin and sinewy. His hair is buzzed short and his eyes are a bright, reedy, obsessive blue.

  I recognize him right away. “Jaxson,” I say.

  He grins. “You remember me?”

  Of course I fucking remember him. I didn’t expect to see him tonight, not at all.

  He’s flanked by two guys dressed like he is, with hard expressions. Jaxson doesn’t bother introducing them, and I know better than to ask. I can already sense what this is and what’s about to happen, and I wish I didn’t have Cora sitting here.

  Jaxson’s eyes flick over to her. “Cora,” he says.

  “Jaxson,” she answers curtly.

  “What are you doing back in this place?” Jaxson asks me. “What’s it been, like, ten years?”

  “Something like that,” I say, though it’s definitely been less. I feel defensive, penned-in with these guys looming over us. I notice the crowd giving us a little more space, and people are tossing glances in our direction.

  Jaxson’s face stays friendly, but there’s an edge to him. “You’re a cop now, right?”

  I nod. “Chicago PD. Detective Reap.”

  His grin gets bigger, less focused. “You always were a fucking prick, Wyatt.” I think he wants this to come off as a joke, and his two flunkies both laugh.

  But I don’t smile. “And you always were an asshole.”

  He holds my gaze, his face going a little manic, and finally he laughs. I smile and laugh a little with him as the tension dissipates slightly. I was afraid he might actually come at me for a second, but he controlled himself.

  “What brings you in here?” he asks me.

  “We’ve been asking around about Atticus.”

  Jaxson’s eyes go wide. He didn’t expect me to admit it so readily, but there’s no reason to hide it.

  Cora glances at me but I don’t look back.

  “What do you want to know about that dead asshole?” Jaxson asks. He looks at Cora. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

  “Were you two close?” I ask him. “Recently, I mean.”

  He shrugs. “Not really. Atticus had his fucking problems. Liked to hang around me and my boys, you know, but fuck that guy.”

  “Sure, I hear you,” I say. “Any of your friends have any reason to kill him?”

  Jaxson’s eyes narrow at me. “You fucking suggesting something?”

  “Not at all.” I look over at Cora and stand up. Jaxson is forced to step back away from me. “Come on, Cora.”

  She stands, looking uncertain. I toss some money onto the bar.

  “Where you goin’, Wyatt?” Jaxson asks. “We just got here. I thought we’d pa
rty, for old time’s sake.” His grin is disgusting, and I suddenly feel absolutely sure that this guy has something to do with Atticus’s death.

  “Unless you want to talk about Atticus, I’m not interested.”

  Jaxson rolls his eyes. “All this shit about Atticus. It’s like you’re obsessed. Let him stay dead, you prick.”

  I stare back at him. “He was killed.”

  “Yeah, he was.” Jaxson steps closer to me, speaks a little lower. I tense, ready, just in case. “And maybe he did something stupid, like ask too many questions.”

  I hear the threat. It’s so clumsy, even Cora’s eyes go wide.

  “You have a good night, Jaxson,” I say to him.

  “Don’t come back here,” he warns. “You hear me?”

  I turn and grab Cora’s hand. She stumbles after me as we leave together. Jaxson and his goons don’t follow.

  I don’t slow down. We walk fast back to my car, get in, and drive off. Cora’s dead silent until we’re a few blocks away.

  “Did he really threaten you?” she asks me. “I mean, you’re a cop.”

  “He’s an idiot gang banger,” I say.

  “You really think… he’d kill you?” Her eyes are wide, and I can see the fear.

  I shake my head. “No, I don’t. But I didn’t want to risk getting in a fight, not in a room full of his friends.” And especially not with you there, I want to add.

  She frowns and looks away. “Do you think they were the ones looking in my garbage?”

  “Could be,” I admit. “I really don’t know.”

  She bites her lip and doesn’t say anything for the rest of the ride.

  I hate that this is so difficult for her. I don’t want to drag her through this, force her to listen to all this shit about her brother, deal with petty threats from douchebag gang bangers, but if she wants to be a part of this, that’s what happens.

  I drop her off at her apartment. I walk up to her front door with her and she turns to me.

  “You know,” I say. “Most dates like this end with a kiss.”

  She can’t help but smile. I love making her smile. “Oh yeah?”

  I nod. “And then you’ll invite me in, bring me into your bedroom. You’ll pretend it’s so we can listen to some music, or whatever excuse you use, but we both know what you really want.”

  “And what’s that?” she asks.

  I smirk and tilt her chin up toward me. “You want me to fuck you until you scream.”

  She stares into my eyes before looking away, smiling. “Yeah, too bad I only invite you over when strange men go through my trash.”

  I grin and step back. “Yeah, too bad. I guess I’ll have to arrange for that.”

  She grins at me and opens her door. “Good night, Wyatt.”

  “Good night, Cora.”

  She head in and shuts the door behind her.

  I’m smiling to myself the whole ride back to the motel. I know it’s irrational and foolish, flirting with her like that, but I couldn’t help myself. My adrenaline was running high after that little faceoff with Jaxson, and Cora draws me to her, slowly but surely. I can’t help myself around her.

  That’s scary. But goddamn, does it feel good.

  9

  Cora

  I park my car on the gravel driveway and step out, glancing behind me, back toward the street. I don’t know why I do it, but I can feel the paranoia inside of me, just starting to grow.

  I think about Wyatt as I walk up toward the little house. I keep seeing the way he looked at me last night, jokingly talking about coming inside with me, but I’m not so sure it was a joke. There’s a tension between us, and it’s always there, no matter what we’re doing. Maybe I want to keep trying to pretend like it’s not an intense attraction, but I honestly don’t know how long that’s going to last.

  Because the truth is, I want him. I know I shouldn’t, for a lot of reasons. Mainly, he’s the one that’s helping me solve this case. I need him to be objective and invested in this, the case, not in whatever’s brewing between the two of us. And on top of that, last night showed me just how dangerous this whole thing is.

  My brother was murdered. I can’t forget that. Someone killed him violently, viciously, and we want to find that person and throw them in prison for a very long time. Whoever did it doesn’t want to be found, for obvious reasons.

  I can’t risk a distraction, either. One false step and we’re both screwed. And after that mystery man stopped by my apartment to root through my trash, I’m already scared enough. They know I’m on to them, that I’m the one helping to investigate this. They’re not going to back down until they scare me away, or worse.

  But on top of all that, Wyatt was my brother’s friend. That specter of Atticus is keeping me away from him, because I know Atticus wouldn’t have wanted me to get involved with his friends. Or maybe that’s just the old Cora talking, maybe he’d be happy that I found someone like Wyatt.

  It’s hard to say. The Atticus I used to know and the Atticus that got killed are two very, very different people.

  I reach the front door and don’t bother to knock. I push it open, stepping into the familiar living room. I shut the door behind me as my mother pokes her head out from the kitchen.

  “Hi, mom,” I say.

  “Come home to do laundry?”

  I wince a little bit. My mom still thinks I’m a little kid. “No, I actually do that at my own apartment.”

  “Right.” She has a cigarette in her hand, which makes me frown. I thought she quit a couple months ago, but I don’t say anything. “Well, come on in.”

  She’s sitting in the kitchen with her laptop on the table and a glass of wine next to it. She’s looking at Facebook, and I bet she’s been talking on the phone. This is a pretty typical Sunday morning for her, and it’s actually a good sign. Right after Atticus was found dead, she couldn’t do anything but lie in bed and drink. At least now she’s doing her drinking in the kitchen.

  “Want something to eat?” she asks me.

  “No, I’m okay.” I put my bag down on a chair. I open up the refrigerator and take out a Coke, popping it open.

  “Do you know how to block people on Facebook?” she asks me, sitting down again in front of her laptop and slipping some glasses onto her nose.

  I laugh a little. “Sure, why?”

  “It’s this guy from way back.” She frowns, shaking her head. “Keeps messaging me about Atticus.”

  “What kind of messages?” I ask, looking over her shoulder.

  “Trying to be nice. But really, wanting something.” She looks up at me. “Know what I mean?”

  I just nod. “Here, this is how you do it.”

  She shows me the guy’s page. He looks pretty bland, but they always do. Internet creeps are more common than genuinely nice people, unfortunately. I block him for her before sitting down in the chair across the table.

  “Thanks,” she says, stubbing out her cigarette. I sip my Coke. “What are you up to today?” she asks me.

  I shrug a little. “Probably seeing Wyatt later.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Atticus’s old friend? The cop?”

  “That’s the one,” I say.

  “What are you hanging around him for?”

  I can’t bear to look at her. “We’re investigating the murder.”

  She goes silent. It’s that word, “murder,” she’s unable to say it. Makes her clam up whenever someone else does, like she’s in denial or something. Like they didn’t find her son’s body stabbed and shot.

  “You should let the police handle that,” she says finally.

  “Maybe. But let’s be honest, mom. They’re not exactly working hard.”

  Her face shows nothing. “I’m sure they’re trying.”

  “Maybe.” I finally meet her gaze directly. “Can you do me a favor?”

  She sighs. “What?”

  “Do you remember his ex very well?”

  “Which one?”

  “Kr
isti,” I say. “Short, hair dyed streaky blonde.” I hesitate before adding, “Junkie, like him.”

  That jogs her memory. “Never liked her.”

  “Were they close?”

  She shrugs. “He mentioned her once or twice.” She laughs suddenly. “She came over for dinner a few months ago.”

  “Really?”

  “She was so strung out, hell, so was he. I could tell, but I didn’t say anything. At the end of dinner, Atticus asked for money like always.”

  I nod, not surprised. “What was she like?” I press. “Did they seem like they got along?”

  She shrugs. “She was fine. Not the kind of girl I wanted him around, but what could I do?” She takes a big drink of her wine.

  I decide to change tack. “There’s someone else, a guy he was friends with.”

  “Honey, do we really need to do this?”

  “Yes,” I say. “The guy’s name is Jaxson.”

  Her face clouds over at that name. “I remember him,” she says.

  “Atticus didn’t tell me anything about his life. I think he tried to hide it all from me, except for when he asked for money, of course.”

  She nods at that. “Probably wanted to protect you. He’s your older brother.”

  “What do you know about Jaxson?” I ask her.

  “Nothing good. He’s trouble.”

  That part’s pretty clear to me already, but getting her to open up is like pulling teeth. It’s always been like that with my mother. She’d rather drink than talk about anything important, and for the most part, that’s been fine. I can ignore things just like she can. But this, we can’t ignore this.

  Atticus is dead, and his killer is still out there.

  “What’s he like now?” I ask her.

  She shrugs a little. “How should I know? Your brother didn’t tell me anything about his life.” She takes another drink. “Except for when he wanted money. And the occasional visit, which usually ended with him asking for money.” She makes a face. “I wish I hadn’t given him a dime.”

  “He would have found other, harder ways,” I say softly. “So he never mentioned Jaxson?”

  Mom shakes her head. “Not once. But I do know his parents, and they’re no good. They live over in the trailers on Maple, you know the ones.”